


We Happy Few

by musiclily88



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst, F/F, Porn, Porn with Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-19
Updated: 2013-06-19
Packaged: 2017-12-15 10:51:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/848661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/musiclily88/pseuds/musiclily88
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eleanor has a habit of not realizing how good things are until everything goes pear-shaped.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We Happy Few

**Author's Note:**

> I just really needed to write some girl-on-girl combined with angst. This is the product.

Eleanor has a habit of not realizing how good things are until everything goes pear-shaped. In this case, ruination came in the form of Danielle breaking things off and moving out of their flat after two years of dating.

“Please, can we just talk about this?” Eleanor begs, tugging on Danielle’s hand, trying to get her to drop the suitcase in her arm. Danielle is stony-faced, while Eleanor has tears in her eyes.

“Oh, you want to talk now? Really? _This_ is when you want to talk?” Danielle tugs herself away from Eleanor, moving across the room to collect more of her belongings.

“What do you mean? Of course I want to talk about this!” Eleanor says imploringly. “I love you! I don’t want you to leave me.”

“You’ve barely looked at me for weeks. I think we both know this is a done deal.” Danielle turns her back to Eleanor, shoulders hunching.

“No, please. I can fix it. I’ve just been stressed about my coursework, that’s all. I promise. I can make it work, I can fix it.”

“I met someone else.”

Eleanor goes still, her ears roaring.

“Who is she?”

“I met him at the gym.”

“Oh my god. Fucking classic.” Eleanor falls to the sofa and buries her face in her hands.

“I’m sorry.” Danielle sits down on the couch and gently rests her hand on Eleanor’s knee.

“I don’t want you to go,” Eleanor croaks.

“Yes, you do.”

**

“Sweetheart, why are you doing this to yourself?” Louis asks, leaning close to Eleanor in the noisy bar.

“We’re still—I mean, we’re friends with all the same people. I can’t just avoid her,” Eleanor points out. “I won’t just avoid her.” She is pointedly staring at Danielle on the dance floor, grinding with the jock she met at the gym. He has short hair and a bit of stubble around his jaw. Belatedly, Eleanor notices that his forearms are littered with large tattoos. He doesn’t look like Danielle’s _type_ —but then, Eleanor could have sworn _she_ was Danielle’s type. Nothing makes sense anymore.

“Do you wanna dance with me?” Eleanor places a hand on Louis’ wrist.

“You know I’m gay, right?” Louis asks, brows raised to a quirk. 

“So am I.”

Eleanor drags him to the neon backlit dance-floor. Throwing dignity and caution to the wind, she pulls Louis’ hips into hers, coy smile playing at her lips. She shoves her chest closer to Louis’ own, hoping Danielle sees her but also hoping she won’t. She feels the beat of the music deep in her gut and behind her sternum. She tries to forget about everything.

The song ends and the pace slows, throwing her rhythm off. She sees Danielle staring at her and frowning.

“Never mind,” Eleanor says to Louis. “This was a bad idea.” He shrugs. “Thanks for being a good sport.”

“I’m nothing if not that.” He heads towards Danielle and her new boy, giving them a small wave of his hand as he approaches.

Eleanor edges her way off the dance-floor and into the dingy bathroom, feeling raw and overheated. She runs one sink and rubs water onto her neck, trying not to cry.

The door slams open behind her and she spins around. “What was that?” demands Danielle.

“I love you.” Eleanor backs up, hips hitting the sink.

“What _was_ that?” Danielle repeats, voice low as the bathroom door shuts quietly.

“A mistake, I suppose.”

Danielle shakes her head as Eleanor steps closer to her, but she puts up no resistance as Eleanor cups her cheek. She’s pliant and loose-limbed. Eleanor presses a kiss to her cheek, chaste and quiet.

Danielle shoves her away, then tugs her back in again, hands harsh on Eleanor’s hips. She presses her lips onto Eleanor’s forehead, cheek, nose, and finally the corner of her mouth.

Eleanor takes this as tacit permission to yank her into a cubicle. She barely shuts the door before shucking Danielle of her top, hands kneading into the skin of her back and stomach.

“I love you,” she hums, pressing her lips to Danielle’s collarbone. Danielle inhales sharply and clasps her hands around Eleanor’s neck. She presses her back against the wall and pulls Eleanor closer.

“I still love you,” she whispers, hitching up Danielle’s skirt and slipping a hand into her knickers. Danielle widens her stance, inviting Eleanor wordlessly. She moves two fingers into Danielle and ghosts her thumb over her clit.

She _knows_ Danielle, and she knows what she likes, and if she can use this to her advantage, she will. Eleanor cups the back of Danielle’s neck and tugs at her hair, eliciting a soft whine. She thrusts her fingers into Danielle gently, keeping the pace slow as she kisses Danielle’s exposed throat.

She rubs a small circle around Danielle’s clit, pressing down rhythmically.

“Teasing,” Danielle complains quietly, eyes closed with her head tilted back. Eleanor bites down on Danielle’s collarbone at this, sucking a mark into the skin. She moves a third finger inside, then presses down insistently with the pad of her thumb. Danielle gasps and rocks forward into the touch.

Eleanor pumps her fingers in and out, kneading at Danielle’s tits through her bra. Danielle’s legs are starting to shake, Danielle’s muscular, dance-formed legs. Her breath has gone shallow and ragged, hands pointlessly scrabbling against Eleanor’s back.

“I love you,” Eleanor repeats. She circles Danielle’s clit roughly, darting her fingers in and out. Danielle’s voice is keening at the back of her throat, her eyes shut and her head knocked back. Her breath shudders. “Come for me, baby,” Eleanor whispers, knowing Danielle is close.

Danielle shivers and her body tenses, clenching around Eleanor. She moans quietly, gone utterly stiff while still shaking.

Eleanor presses a kiss to Danielle’s jaw, stroking her neck with her free hand. She removes her hand from inside Danielle and straightens her knickers. Then she shuffles her skirt down, settling it about her thighs. Then Eleanor peppers Danielle’s face with feather-light kisses as Danielle catches her breath.

Danielle abruptly reaches past Eleanor to pick up her abandoned top, startling Eleanor. They bump elbows, and Eleanor hisses, “Sorry.”

Danielle shrugs and shoves her top over her head. Then she opens the cubicle without glancing backwards. Eleanor follows her.

“I love you,” Eleanor repeats when she sees Danielle’s hand on the doorknob.

“Don’t do that again.”

“What?” Eleanor gapes at Danielle, who looks back over her shoulder.

“Ever.”

**

Eleanor watches Danielle collapse into a casual kiss with the jock on the dance-floor. Eleanor exits the bar via the back entrance and sits down in the alleyway. There are so many ways her life could have gone better. She can think of none in which it could have gone worse.


End file.
